


Rika's Future Association

by sevenzeroseven



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dangan Ronpa Fusion, Amnesia, Gen, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8117131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenzeroseven/pseuds/sevenzeroseven
Summary: You don’t remember anything. When you wake up, you’re little more than a blank slate, and no one knows what to do with you — Dangan Ronpa x Mystic Messenger





	

You don’t remember anything. When you wake up, you’re little more than a blank slate, and no one knows what to do with you.

Maybe she’s a sleeper agent? 

But what if she’s innocent? 

This isn’t right.

You’re empty and confused. Even as they debate whether to kill you or spare you, you feel… nothing. After all, you have no name, no family, no friends, no past, and now, no future, so… why should you care? At some point, the blue-haired man speaks. Once he does, everyone else goes silent. You can’t quite make out the words. Sleep fast approaches, and you welcome it. Maybe the next time you wake up, you’ll be someone rather than no one.

You’re not that lucky. The next time you wake, you’re strapped to a bed in a strange room. You blink through the invisible weights on your eyelids and try to speak, but it’s as if cotton lines your mouth. All you manage is some dry smacking, so you give up. Your head hits the pillow in defeat, but you’ve been lying down far too long. _How long_ , you wonder, shifting your head side-to-side as you try to find a position that doesn’t _ache_. Nothing works.

Your mind chugs along slowly in a vain attempt to understand what’s happening. First, you don’t know your name; you don’t know who you are, but that doesn’t startle you as much as you feel it should. It almost feels natural as though you’ve lived your entire life this way. (A voice in the back of your mind whispers otherwise, but every time it speaks, there are needles in your brain.)

You shake your head, whining quietly, and try to pull your arms to your body—only to discover that you can’t. They’re firmly shackled to the bed post. You reflexively try the same with your legs and discover, once again, that you can’t. Your halfhearted efforts are greeted with the chink of metal on metal, and on the fourth or so clink, something inside of you snaps. 

Panic grips you and makes your heart seize up. You can’t scream; your throat is too hoarse for that, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. All you manage are weak, puffy gasps as you struggle against your constraints. The sound has grown loud enough that it’s all you hear, reverberating back and forth in the room and highlighting the hopelessness of your situation.

Suddenly, the opposite wall opens. The flood of fluorescent light hurts your eyes. You shut them instinctively and whimper, trying to pull your legs together, but they’re forcefully splayed out. You’re exposed and vulnerable. A million scenarios flash across your mind. They all funnel into a single thought: _I’m going to die._

Tears sting at the edges of your eyes. The groggy fog over your mind has gradually lifted enough that you’re taking interest in your own life and your surroundings. Right now, the red-haired man approaching you is your primary concern. You make a sound halfway between a groan and a cough, and he’s quick to soothe you.

“Woah, woah!” He holds his hands up, palms out, but he can’t get too close because of your thrashing. “Calm down!” There’s almost a sing-songy lilt to his voice. 

“We’re not going to hurt you! If we wanted to do that, you’d already be dead,” he hums, but his consolation seems at odds with the syringe he’s brandished. The brightly-colored fluid only causes your eyes to widen further. 

“Wuh—Wuh—” you sputter, and he hums again. 

“Oh-hoh. You can talk. That’s good. Just—hold still for a moment, okay?” He’s quick and agile, and you’re tied down. The outcome is obvious. By the time you notice that you’d frozen up, it’s too late. You watch with horror as the needle sinks into your right shoulder, and the red liquid dispenses into your bloodstream. As soon as it hits, you find the tension unwinding from your shoulders, your muscles relaxing. You almost feel like going back to sleep, but not quite. Your mind is still plenty alert and plenty panicking. As much as you want to keep resisting, you physically _can’t_. Before you can wrap your head around this new development, there’s a pinch in your arm. The next that you look, the needle is gone. It’s been replaced by the stranger’s hand and a piece of gauze.

His other hand travels behind him where he’s laid the syringe, now mostly empty. “That right there is a downer. We didn’t expect you to wake up so soon.” Suddenly, he seems sheepish as he ducks his head and draws his bottom lip down over his teeth, briefly exposing them in an exaggerated grimace. “Rare as it is for God Seven to make a mistake, it happens. Please forgive me!”

He ducks his head again but keeps the gauze firmly in place as his other hand produces a band-aid out of seemingly nowhere. He rips the paper and plastic off with his teeth then presses it gently over the cotton and your skin before giving you a roguish grin. 

“There. All be—”

“Seven!” A new face appears in the doorway. If you weren’t drugged, you’d probably be jumping out of your skin. As it is, all you can do is shift your head lazily in the newcomer’s direction. At first, you think you’ve seen a ghost. His skin is pale, his hair is white, and his eyes are red, but all that aside, he’s  _beautiful_. Eerily so.

“She woke up?” He’s panting heavily as if he’s been running. Before he enters, he smooths down the front of his white jacket and tugs nervously at the long ponytail draped over his right shoulder. You immediately think that his eyes are kind and soft despite their intimidating color. He looks genuinely concerned.

“Oh, Zen! Good timing. I have to go report this to V. Can you stay with her?”

You try mumbling something, but if you open your mouth, your lips go slack. You can’t feel the drool accumulating, but you know it is, so you quickly clench your jaw shut again and grit your teeth. As absurd as it is, you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of these guys… but you’re already tied down prisoner-style, so you suppose it doesn't really matter. At least you’re decently covered. A thin sheet rests over you that’s now been pulled down to your hips thanks to your own flailing. You’re in a plain white t-shirt and what feels like sweatpants.

The addressed—Zen?—advances further into the room. His pity is palpable.

“Oi, Seven. Wouldn’t it be fine to get her out of those cuffs now?”

Red-haired boy, or “Seven,” tsks. He’s disappeared from your bedside and now stands in your blind spot. You can just make out his shadow on the carpet, shifting around with what you assume is a cellphone in his hand. “You know I can’t until V says so.”

Zen frowns. He changes the topic. “Anyway,” he starts and begins approaching the bed. For some reason, his presence isn’t alarming, or maybe that’s thanks to the depressant running through your veins. Either way, you’re almost grateful. The initial flood of emotions has exhausted you. Your breathing is steady even as the other leans across the bed to brush hair out of your face.

“Jumin is on his way.”

You hear Seven’s voice in the hallway and are momentarily disoriented that you didn’t notice him leave. “Hmm,” he hums. “For someone who vocally hates him, you’re pretty quick to get him involved~”

Zen leans back and the bed dips where he’s seated himself. He scoffs. “V won’t be able to come back immediately, right? So, I thought it would be better for someone else besides us two to handle this and…” He sighs. “That jerk can have good instincts. Sometimes.” 

Seven laughs, or at least it sounds like a laugh, as he retreats. “It’s such a shame Jumin isn’t here to hear you say that.”

Two hours pass. Whatever they gave you is nearly out of your system by now. You’re still shackled, and Zen has apologized several times for it, but at least he’s loosened the tightness around your wrists and ankles somewhat. You can pull your legs halfway up to your chest and move your arms around semi-freely.

Zen fills your silence with his own remarks. He makes some throwaway comments about the room and your health. You don’t need to look in a mirror to tell you’re not… well. You’re quite thin. That burst of effort earlier is really hitting you hard. Even if they did remove the restraints, you don’t think you'd have the energy to do much else than sit and wait for their mysterious third.

At one point, he finally stops and settles down at your bedside again. You flinch, and he quickly apologizes. “S-Sorry.” He pauses. “You must have a lot of questions, right?”

For the first time, you meet his eyes. It’s a weak gesture. You feel like a mouse curled in on itself. You can only hold his gaze for two seconds before you glance away again and hesitantly nod. _Of course_. Of course you have questions. Ever since you woke, your mind has been nothing but questions and fear and panic, but another part of you is tired and weary. These people, whoever they are, don’t seem like they mean much harm. With the issue of your immediate safety out of the way, you’re quite content with waiting for answers. 

Your grip tightens around the mug of tea he’d given you earlier. You can tell it’s strong tea from the flavorful aroma, but it goes down like water. This is your third cup, now lukewarm, and your mouth still feels dry and foreign, so you haven’t tried to talk. You’re glad he doesn't push you.

“Jumin, that jerk. What the hell is taking him so long.”

You hear Zen let out a breath of frustration and uncross his legs, and just as he moves away, the door opens. You startle, head snapping up. 

“I heard you dissing me.”

Zen scoffs and folds his arms across his chest defensively. His back is to you; you can’t see his face, but his words ooze irritation. “About time you got here.” 

Seven appears, and their combined presence is blocking most of the intruder’s features from you. You can see he’s a striped dress shirt and dark pants; you can hear an authoritative, almost haughty tone in his deep voice. “Well, I might have been the nearest out of all the other members, but I still needed to take a helicopter.” 

He pushes past before anyone else can say anything, and all of a sudden, you’re staring into distant black eyes and at a loss for words. Not that you’ve spoken much, or at all, since waking.

“Luciel, what is her condition?”

Luciel...? Seven pops his head from behind the dark-haired stranger’s backside who’s stopped a few steps from your mattress. “She’s stable. For now,” he says, and then suddenly his eyes light up behind his odd-looking glasses. “Oh~! You’re actually pretty cute when you're sober!”

I-Is he talking about you…? You look around the room, dazed, and before you can refocus on him, he says, “Yep, you,” as if he’s guessed your scattered thoughts.

The words form in your mouth automatically, before you can think. “T-Thank you…”

They come out as just a whisper, croaked between cracked lips and a voice that probably hasn’t been used since who knows when. _God_ , you sound awful. You immediately try clearing your throat out of chagrin, but it sounds more like you’re trying to hack up a hairball. 

“Enough.” The deep voice causes you to look up again, wide-eyed. “You don’t have to push yourself.” He doesn’t come any closer, but his gaze has you pinned down. “I have a few questions for you.” 

“Jumin. She just woke up.” Zen cuts him off, and you look to him with something like gratitude. “She can hardly talk.”

“Then we won’t ask her to talk.” The man, Jumin, shifts his weight, pulls out a wooden chair from a nearby desk, and takes a seat. “All you have to do is nod or shake your head. Do you understand?”

You pause. Your tea has gone completely cold now, and something like anxiety is bubbling in your stomach again. It's pressing against your diaphragm, constricting your throat. You nod.

“Good. Now, do you know your name?”

You shake your head.

“Do you remember… anything about yourself?”

You shake your head. He sighs, and you wilt. It’s not your fault, but… you can’t help feeling somehow responsible anyway. Your teeth worry at your lower lip. There’s a pause. The surface of your tea ripples as you nervously shift your weight and chance a glance up to see the three of them exchanging looks.

“Then,” Jumin continues. “Let’s try something else. I’ll say a word or phrase, and you nod if it means anything to you.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he starts.

“Hope’s Peak Academy.”

You shake your head.

“RFA.”

You shake your head.

“Mint Eye.”

You shake your head.

“The Biggest, Most Awful, Most Tragic Event in Human History.”

You glance up, simultaneously surprised and confused by the string of words. Jumin is staring at you intently now. You don’t notice the other two are as well. You must be making a very flabbergasted, are-you-serious sort of expression because before you can voice anything, he moves on.

“Never mind.” Another pause, this one just a fraction of a second. “Rika.”

You shake—”O-Ow!”

A sharp stab of pain through your left temple makes you wince. You nearly drop your mug as you desperately curl in on yourself and raise your free hand to hold your head. The chain clinks. Your arm stops halfway. You pull at the metal in a frenzy. It hurts… It really hurts—! Your brain is being scrambled, a high-pitched noise growing in your ears and making coherent thought impossible. You think you hear footsteps around you, Seven’s voice maybe. By now it feels as though your head is being split in two, and just as you’ve reached your pain threshold, just as you’re about to open your mouth and shriek, everything starts to blur around the edges. Your conscience, your vision, your hearing…

Seven appears in your hazy periphery vision sharing Zen’s earlier look of concern. You think you hear Zen ask, “Why did you suddenly mention Rika?” but by the time Jumin is answering, you’ve already faded. Just before you completely slip into unconsciousness, though, you think you hear another voice, one that seems to be coming from your own head. It's a soft voice, gentle, that briefly makes your heart swell. 

_I’ll be waiting for you in our paradise, the place where everyone’s happy._

**Author's Note:**

> RFA - future foundation  
> mint eye - ultimate despair
> 
> v - shsl photographer  
> rika - shsl fundraiser  
> jumin - shsl corporate heir  
> zen - shsl musical actor  
> yoosung - shsl gamer  
> jaehee - shsl student council  
> 707 - shsl hacker  
> unknown - shsl despair  
> mc - shsl ???
> 
> i wrote a snippet that i'm probably never going to continue but pls mystic messenger would be 200% perfect in dangan ronpa verse pls sob


End file.
